Devoured Book 0.5 - Page 3

I hold the fabric in between our faces, examining it. Automatically, the corners of my mouth drag into a frown because this is a sorry excuse for a bra and panties.

h.e.l.l, I feel naked just holding it.

Crossing my arms over my body so that the underwear are tucked behind me, I glance down at Amber, who’s still shorter than my five foot ten in her high-heeled boots, and say, “I think a softer look would work better. I mean, “All Over You” is a love song, right?”

A dirty, s.e.xy love song about a one night stand that had the potential to be so much more. The other night my roommate and I had watched a lyric video of it on YouTube, and just listening to Lucas’s voice had stripped me down.

Had left me wanting exactly what he was talking about, though I don’t think I’d ever admit that to anyone.

Amber gives me a frosty smile before stalking back over to her makeshift desk, her high-heeled boots grinding on the concrete floor. She shuffles through her paperwork before glancing up to give me a look. “Those go to the actress, Sienna.”

“I’m on it,” I say. When I turn to walk out of the s.p.a.ce we’ve been given to work in for the duration of the shoot, my boss clears her throat. I freeze for a second before I glance back over my shoulder warily, raising my chin a little to acknowledge her.

“Just so you know I didn’t hire you to give me your G.o.dd.a.m.n interpretation of what kind of costumes go with the song. I gave you this position because one of my colleagues, who I love and respect, said you’re a fantastic student. I need you to be as great as he said you are,” she says. Kip, one of my theater professors, had given me this recommendation. I nod and the corner of her mouth pulls up into something resembling a smile. “You should also think twice before flaming the band that’s responsible for your paycheck.”

But I hadn’t flamed the band—just Amber’s choice in costuming for their music video. I tell her that I understand anyway. As I head out into the dimly lit concrete hallway, I feel like that idiot, the one who’s on the verge of losing her job at any moment because she couldn’t keep her d.a.m.n opinion to herself. I’m deep in thought, trying to come up with ways to smooth things over with Amber, when the sound of Verizon’s generic ringtone blares from between my br**sts. I’m lucky to be out of earshot, because if Amber had realized I hadn’t turned my ringer off, she would have flipped out.

I dash into a corner, dragging my phone from its hiding spot inside my bra. “h.e.l.lo?” I answer breathlessly.

“You have a collect call from . . .” An automated voice begins, and a groan escapes from the back of my throat. It’s my mother. It’s my mom, and now, I wish I’d looked at the screen before I picked up. I’d done a pretty good job ignoring her calls for the last several days, but now I was screwed. I couldn’t just hang up on her. I drag my hand through the ends of my long ponytail, and stare down at the rows of b.u.t.tons until they become a nauseating blur of numbers and letters. The voice on the other line drones on, prompting me to accept the call, and my finger inches up to hover over the b.u.t.ton to end the call.

I shake that thought from my head. Now that I’ve answered, she won’t stop calling until she gets some type of response from me. I jab the key to accept the collect call a little too hard, silently cursing at myself as Mom’s voice comes onto the line.

“Baby, I haven’t talked to you in weeks.” She sounds sweet, desperate, and I flinch because I know she’s about to ask something of me that I can’t—or shouldn’t—do.

“Sorry, I’ve got a new job. And I’ve been busy with school work, and me and Tori just—”

She makes a sharp tssking noise that’s a bitter reminder of my childhood to cut me off. Then she launches into what I thought she’d say. “I need you to send money, Si.”

Like usual, it’s not a request.

“How much?” I question, squeezing the bridge of my nose where there’s a headache starting to form. “And how soon do you need it?” I push and pull deep breaths of air through my nostrils as I wait for her to answer me.

Mom’s quiet for a moment, as she pretends to consider an amount she’s more than likely had in her head for days, before finally saying, “Three hundred would be great, Si. And I needed it yesterday, actually, so as soon as possible.”

I’ll never understand why she needs money in prison any more than I comprehend why it’s impossible for me to tell her that I can’t do it, that I need every penny that I make to pay bills, to send money to Gram. To help take care of my seventeen year old brother, Seth.

“I will when I receive my paycheck.” There’s no point for me to finish telling my mother how Tori, my roommate, and I have just moved into a new place together or how the bills are astronomical. She’d simply reprimand me for moving to California in the first place.

“When will that be?”

“At least a couple weeks from now. I’m working on a shoot for a music video . . .” My voice trails off, and part of me wishes she’d ask about my new job or school, but then she murmurs something about me being a good kid.

“It’s not a big deal,” I say in a tight voice.

Mom rattles on for another several minutes about the horrible prison food and how much she hates her new cellmate, and finally, the automated voice returns to the line warning us that we have a minute remaining on our call.

It is the longest sixty seconds of my life.

“So you’ll send me that money, right?” my mother probes, and I feel myself nodding my head slowly. She heaves an impatient sigh and adds, “Sienna, I can’t see a d.a.m.n thing you’re doing. A yes or a no would work just fine.”